Bravery Under Adversity
by Fang323
Summary: Arthur is placed in the most dangerous of situations, with almost no way out in sight. Alfred may be coming for him, but he may not be in time. Arthur must take matters of his rescue into his own hands. Not all hostages are helpless in the face of an icy hell. A Re-Write of "Icy Darkness".
1. The Players Take the Stage

Hey there, Fang here.

For all those wondering, this is the beginning of the re-write for "Icy Darkness". If you had favorited or followed that story, I would be greatly appreciative if you would switch to this story, where the plot of Arthur being kidnapped by Russia is exactly the same, as are most of the details of the story up to the last chapter I wrote.

I love the premise of this story. It's one of the reasons I am going to the trouble of re-writing it. I felt that my writing style a year or two ago, when I started it originally doesn't give it justice compared to many of the stories I've read recently. I want to vamp up the quality of this story, and maybe add a few bits in here and there.

Again, thank you for your patience. If you are new to this story, you are hopefully in for a treat. If you are transferring over from "Icy Darkness", welcome back, and please forgive me for all this confusion.

* * *

Arthur finished applying pressure to the small wound at his temple and took the reddened cloth away, satisfied that it was done bleeding. He didn't have any bandages on him at the moment, but he made himself a mental note to remedy that situation as soon as possible. The cut looked like it was clean enough in the mirror, though it still a bit noticeable. The bruise on his jaw was way too out in the open though, but there was nothing he could really do about that. He sighed in exasperation. Thinking back, this meeting had been an interesting development in the physicality of politics. If he was going to end up being caught in the middle of it more often, then he would need to start preparing accordingly.

As it was, Arthur shoved his bloody handkerchief into his pocket, and left the bathroom. Why countries couldn't settle differences more civilly he had no answer to, he thought to himself. Not that he didn't appreciate the blowing off of some steam every once in a while, but this was getting too out of hand.

All he wanted right now was to get himself home as soon as possible, fetch himself a cup of Earl Grey tea (probably more than that, if he was going to be honest with himself), and finish up some last minute paperwork before turning in early and getting some much needed sleep. First step to this was getting out of the building alive, though. Not normally a problem, except for this last meeting was bringing up new complications that made Arthur question his own safety.

Or he was overanalyzing the entire thing. That was possible too. All he wanted to do was get out of this building safely and silently.

"Artie, wait up!"

Well, that plan was blown to hell.

Arthur looked over his shoulder to see the American rushing towards him at full throttle. He stifled a groan, and prepared himself for one of Alfred's famous jump-hugs that left you on the ground moaning in pain. To his happy surprise, Alfred simply came up to his side and stopped, laying a friendly hand on his shoulder.

"Well, hello to you too, chap." Arthur replied, the tension melting from his muscles as he realized he wasn't about to be mowed down by an over-enthusiastic American. "Rousing meeting, wouldn't you say?" He raised an eyebrow at his brother.

Alfred looked sheepish as they walked. As he rightly should.

"S-Sorry…" he mumbled out, shoving his hands in his jacket pockets. Arthur rolled his eyes.

"The country summit is not the best place for a bar brawl, do you think? It's especially between you two. Next time you want to pull a stunt like that, you and Russia can go fight in the sandbox and stay out of the building."

Alfred shrugged his shoulders in a half-apology. "Dude, he totally started it! If he hadn't taken that crack at my military and my competence and my maturity and everything else, then I wouldn't have jumped him like that, alright? It was his fault."

Arthur snorted. "And jumping across the table to throttle him is mature?"

"Hell yes it is!"

"Alfred…" Arthur ran a hand down his face, wincing slightly as he accidentally touched his wound.

Alfred stopped in his tracks, and laid a gently restraining hand on Arthur's shoulder. He was gazing intently at the darkening bruise upon Arthur's jaw, his eyebrows furrowed.

"That looks a bit serious, Artie…"

Arthur shook off his concern with a wave of his hand. "It's fine. It's better than I've had before, anyway."

Alfred turned his brother to face him, bringing a hand to his chin to lift his head up and get a better look at the mark. Arthur scowled and hit his hand away.

"Git, I said I'm fine!"

"I want to see for myself!" Alfred persisted to reach towards the offending bruise.

"There's no need for that, it's just a bruise! Honestly, Alfred, it's not like I'm dying or anything! You bloody git, you need to calm down."

"That's gotta hurt, though, bro."

"I told you, it's not that bad-"

Alfred's grip on his shoulder suddenly stiffened and tightened, and his voice cut off. Arthur looked up at him in annoyance, but shut his mouth when he swore he heard the grinding of his brother's teeth. He was staring straight behind him, his eyes no longer radiating warm concern. Arthur turned halfway and followed his gaze a little apprehensively.

Russia stood leaning against the wall, his arms folded about his chest. His eyes were downcast, making no motion that he had been listening in on their conversation, but his mouth was curled up in an almost cruel smile. Slowly, he raised his sight to the two brothers, and focused his gaze on Arthur.

Those deep violet eyes…they seemed to bore through Arthur's skull and into the very core of his being. Arthur drew himself up even taller and more straight-laced, meeting his eyes defiantly and without fear. Instead of forcing the Russian's eyes elsewhere, the man only grinned wider, as if that was the reaction he was hoping for all along. It unsettled Arthur inside, but he showed nothing to the man he had fought to pull off of his brother, and his brother off vice versa.

Alfred wasn't blind to whom Russia had been turning his attentions upon, and his eyes narrowed. Never removing his sight from Russia, he reached up and wrapped his hand tightly around Arthur's upper arm. Russia's focus shifted a centimeter upward, and his grin widened as he gazed at his archenemy, as if in acceptance of the challenge. Alfred tightened his grip protectively, ignoring the hot red fire in his gut threatening to explode.

"Arthur…C'mon." he murmured quietly in his brother's ear.

Arthur did not seem to listen; his entire attention was still focused upon the imposing Russian. Alfred tugged a little harder than he meant to, and forcefully drew Arthur away and down the hall.

The Englishman finally seemed to gather himself about halfway down the hall, and tried to remove Alfred's hand from his arm. Alfred barely noticed. His main concern now was getting as far away as possible from that dark force stinking up the building.

Only when they reached outside and the door to the building had swung shut did Alfred finally let go of his pent-up breath and of Arthur's arm. Both countries slumped onto the wooden bench just outside the door. Alfred leaned forward in his seat, his head in his hands, while Arthur sat back and massaged his tingling arm, letting the blood flow back in. Alfred took a few tentative breaths, trying to calm that mass of rage and anger that arose whenever he saw that disgusting scarf and hideous smile. Eventually, the ball of white fire in his gut began to dissipate with the soft breeze blowing past them.

Arthur flexed his fingers as they were beginning to move on their own again. He didn't say anything about Alfred's reaction back there. He didn't want to know what had spooked the unshakable American that much.

He knew his brother well enough now after all the wars they had fought through back to back, after all the drinks they had shared, after all the good times they had had after the Revolution that Alfred would let him know about something if he really pressed the issue, but Arthur also had the good sense to leave well enough alone sometimes. Alfred's clenched expression right now told him more than he needed to know.

"I don't think I've seen him that calm before in a while…" Arthur commented calmly, rubbing the back of his head. Alfred was clenching his fists and digging his nails deep into his palms. At the sound of Arthur's voice though, he released the tension building up in his hands, and they fell limply into his lap. He lifted his head to stare straight ahead of him.

"Artie…did you see the way he was looking at y- us?" Alfred asked, uncharacteristically quiet. Arthur tilted his head in misunderstanding.

"With the same utter hatred he gives you and everyone else? I saw it…so?"

"No, no, it wasn't just that…" Alfred was at a loss for words. How could he explain the…disturbing hunger that he saw in Russia's eyes? As if he wanted…what? For what purpose? He wouldn't admit it to himself or anyone else, but inside it scared Alfred just thinking about it.

"Nothing. I imagined it." He brushed off his concern as best he could.

Arthur looked at him quizzically, and opened his mouth to inquire further. Before he could though, his hand hit the tender spot on his head where he had been hit. He winced, and drew in a hitch of breath as he quickly took his hand away. Alfred glanced at him, guilt evident in his eyes at Arthur's pained expression.

"Hey, Artie, let me see…I never took a look at what I did- how you were injured." He reached out to Arthur to check his injuries, but Arthur brushed his hand away with a half-hearted commented about how it looked worse than it really was.

"Dude, just let me see anyway, alright?"

Arthur shook his head violently, which in hindsight, was not the best of ideas with a head injury. All of a sudden, his vision turned into a blur of colors and shapes, and he had to grab the bench to keep upright. Alfred took Iggy's moment of disorientation to grab his shoulder and turn him without much force to face him. He grasped the Brit's chin in his left hand and turned Arthur's face up to see the large discolored bruise on his jaw. Hideous shades of deep purple and black were peppering the pale skin underneath, and were impossible to be noticed even from a far distance away. Alfred gulped as he gently traced the dark mark, knowing that it was him in his rage who had put it there.

Arthur finally came out of his haze and batted Alfred's hand away from his face, again insisting that the mark was nothing, that it would heal in no time. But the guilty, upset look on Alfred's face gave him reason to pause, then sigh in resignation. Gratefully, Alfred moved Arthur's head so he could see the hastily cared-for cut at his temple. Blood was still flowing sluggishly out, and Alfred had to remind himself that all head wounds tended to bleed a lot even when they weren't that serious before he began to internally panic. Arthur leant him his already bloodied handkerchief, and Alfred set to work dabbing at the wound.

It wasn't so deep that it would need stitches, but even so, Alfred reached into his side pocket for the small emergency kit he kept to pull out two butterfly bandages. He gently pulled the cut closed, ensuring that it healed properly.

With the wound properly taken care of, Alfred replaced his kit. Arthur muttered his thanks, and quirked one corner of his mouth up in a smile at Alfred's still-worried expression. Alfred visibly relaxed, thankful for Arthur's forgiveness.

"You want an ice-pack for that bruise, Artie? It wouldn't hurt, you know." He suggested, still wanting to help in any way possible. Arthur waved his hand, and he took that to mean the 'go ahead' signal. He stood up, placing his hands at the bottom of his spine and stretching.

"Don't move from here, kay?" Russia's eyes came back to him, and with it that same nagging worry he felt when he looked at his brother. He tried to mask it with a wide grin and a laugh, hoping that it would be enough.

Arthur simply sat back, gingerly touching his bruise. "I'm not going anywhere, git."

Alfred spared him one last glance before rushing back into the building in search of his quarry. Arthur sighed and sank into the bench.

Alfred was being overprotective again, he thought, remembering Alfred's drawing him closer with the incident with Russia. He hadn't done anything like that since World War II, right when he was joining in the war in Europe. The fact that his brother was feeling guilty about hurting him during the meeting wasn't doing wonders either. Alfred's constant paranoia was only growing, and Arthur, unfortunately, was becoming his recipient. He had tried to soothe Alfred's fears, whatever they might be, but it seemed to be for naught after that last little exchange.

His head was throbbing again. Arthur rubbed the spot again, thankful that there was no blood on his hand when he brought it to his face. He didn't think he had a concussion, as he didn't feel sleepy or anything of sort, so that was a start in the right direction.

Where was Alfred with those packs? Surely he must have found something by now. Arthur was beginning to feel a bit irritable from the pain, and he stifled a groan of frustration.

Something jerked his head back violently, and in his haste to cry out, he bit down on the flesh of a hand covering his mouth. His eyes went wide, and he fought the strong arm holding him down on the bench. He had almost gotten the hand away when something jabbed into his neck, and he could feel something cool sliding into his body. Almost instantaneously, Arthur's motor functions began to cease working, and his struggles against his attacker grew weaker and weaker.

"Ah…now what will America think when he finds I have his pet?" a voice snaked into his ear, and he shivered at the deep Russian accent. Already, his vision was beginning to fade.

"This is taking too long though…" the voice continued distastefully. A sharper pain erupted in the back of Arthur's neck, and he knew no more.

* * *

Author's Comments:

And so here we are. I added a good thousand or so words to this story...I was quite proud of myself.

Reviews are loved, and much appreciated, either by older readers of "Icy Darkness" or newcomers.

-Fang


	2. Skepticism Reigns

Hey there, Fang here.

Here's the next installment, as promised. I really am fighting off my procrastination on this one. I just need to run with this muse for as long as I can.

I hope you enjoy! :)

* * *

It had taken a few minutes, but Alfred had finally found suitable ice-pack-like things, large enough to effectively cover the offensive bruise on Arthur's jaw. He couldn't do much in way of an apology in order to fully make up for his aggressive behavior toward his brother during the meeting, but this was as close as he could get. He hadn't seen any sign of Russia anywhere in the building to his relief. He assumed that he had simple gone home, finding himself without anyone to harass.

The American didn't think he had let too much guilt shine through in his expression, but still Arthur somehow knew exactly what he was thinking. It was uncanny how with a single glance, he could unfold any emotion or any fear and tell it to you straight back. Arthur had seen right through the friendly mask he had erected around his guilt at hurting his brother again, and had immediately forgiven him before he had ever said a single word. A surge of affection for his tsundere brother rushed through him, and he gripped the ice packs tighter.

Alfred opened the doors to the outside of the building and half-jogged to where he had left his brother sitting on the bench only a few moments ago.

"Hey, Artie! I got them, bro!" he yelled as he turned the corner. He met with an empty wooden bench.

"Artie?" his voice rang out into empty air as he looked around the area rather confused. Arthur wouldn't have just left like that, would he? Did he leave? Maybe he went to the bathroom or went for a walk, his quickly panicking mind tried to tell him. Or he had decided to head back to his own place, and had simply forgotten to tell Alfred. No…his car was still in the parking lot. But then…?

Trying desperately to keep his suspicions cool and under control, Alfred stepped back into the meeting building to search. The bathroom was empty of people, as were all of the hallways and even the meeting room where they had all been gathered not half an hour ago. Arthur was nowhere to be seen.

Alfred was full-on running now, his anxiety catching up with him in force. Every second that Arthur wasn't in his sight was another point for his worst fears. He rushed out into the daylight and made a beeline for the parking lot. Turning around and around in circles, he searched for something, anything that could be of Arthur's or was a part of Arthur himself.

As he had noticed before, Arthur's car was still right in its perfectly parked place. There was no sign of any struggle, or that Arthur had been there close to it in the past hour or so. Alfred swept his eyes around the rest of the lot, trying to pretend he wasn't looking for one certain car in particular.

He never found that car. It caught him up tightly, and he choked down the fear still pressing into his chest.

Alfred hurried to where Russia's car _was_ parked earlier and started circling the spot, wishing dreadfully that he wouldn't find a damn thing to confirm his growing suspicions.

His hopes were dashed when he bent down on one knee and picked up a silver cufflink from the side of the yellow line of the space. It glinted in the sunlight mockingly. A silver cufflink that had fallen off a British gentleman's jacket.

Alfred clutched the cufflink in his fist, feeling the solid metal stark cold against his skin. His eyebrows drew together, and he was barely able to contain his out-of-control fury.

"ARTHUR!" he shouted out into the sky. Rage, worry, fright, all emotions shot up into life in that one word. It echoed off the buildings and trees, reverberating all around the empty lot.

That bastard. Alfred couldn't even think his name without wanting to crush his shaking fist into the ground. That bastard had…Alfred couldn't wrap his head around it.

Arthur. Arthur was gone. Arthur was gone. Arthur was gone. Arthur. Russia. Arthur. Gone.

Trying to hold his every-growing panic and hate, he stood up, fumbling for his cell phone that now seemed too deep in his jacket pocket for convenience. Dialing furiously, he paced back and forth restlessly four times and listened to three rings before that obnoxious French-accented voice came up over the phone.

"L'Amerique? To what pleasure do I owe this call? Is it possible that you have taken up my offer for that you call 'a romp in the woods'? Because if it is….I was just thinking about you…you moving against me while I pin you against a wall…sweat running down your-"

"Shut up." Alfred's vehement tone cut him off.

"…L'Amerique, you know I was only half-joking-"

"I said to shut the fuck up, France. I'm not calling your ass to listen to you shoot your mouth off about shit like that. You listen to me, and you listen good. Arthur's gone."

Alfred was dashing to his own car, shoving his hands in his pockets for his keys and keeping the phone by his ear with his shoulder.

"…What?" France's disbelieving and confused voice came over the line.

"You heard me, France. He's missing. His car is still here."

"Well, he couldn't have wandered far. Though I do remember that lovely time when he was little that he lost himself in a tree-"

"Russia's car is gone. And I found one of Arthur's cufflinks right next to the parking spot." Alfred spat out.

France's silence spoke volumes.

"But…there could be many explanations for this-"

" Fuck no there isn't! That communist bastard has Artie, damn it!"

"Now you don't-"

"I do know that, France! You have no fucking-"

"L'Amerique, please calm yourself."

"I can't be calm about this, France! For God's sake, my brother is in the clutches of that piece of shit, because there is no other explanation! He isn't anywhere in the building, I've checked myself. And you really think that Arthur would let one of his cufflinks just fall off and not pick it up?! He's a gentleman! He'd rather be caught dead than be missing a cufflink! You didn't see how Russia looked at him after the meeting, France. Hell, I shouldn't have left him alone."

Alfred gritted his teeth as he swung himself into the car. "I'm going there to kill that bastard. That fucking son of a bit-"

"AMERICA!"

France's voice came over so forcefully that Alfred paused just for a moment to breathe. In and out. In and out. Take it slow. He shook his head, and realized he had gripped the inside of the car door so hard, the inside handle was nothing but crushed metal. He cursed and pulled the door shut anyway.

"…Yeah." He murmured into the phone to let France know he was still there.

"For now, let's say that you are right. That Russia does indeed have him for some nefarious purpose."

"He does, fuck it!"

France ignored Alfred's mutterings. "Now…to find our precious L'Angleterre, who could be anywhere…what do you have in mind?"

"…Just call anyone. Everyone. Anyone who can help. I'll call Mattie though, leave him to me. But then meet at Arthur's place. Is that alright?"

"Understood, L'Amerique. And…L'Amerique?"

Alfred leaned back in his seat and sighed. "What?"

"Don't do anything until you know more…I'm sure he's fine."

"Like I could believe that." He ground out through gritted teeth.

With that, Alfred hit 'end call'. He opened his clenched fist to glance at the silver cufflink, glinting in the sunlight hitting the car window. Alfred muttered another curse, and placed the cufflink into the lining of his jacket.

The car roared to life a second later, and Alfred tore out of the parking lot, a lead foot slammed onto the gas. Not even speed limits could possibly have any hold on him now.

Some time later, Alfred skidded into the driveway of Matthew's house. Kicking the door open, he marched up to the house and resisted the urge to just slam the door open and let himself in. It took all his self-control to just simply ring the doorbell and wait like a normal person who hadn't just realized his brother had been kidnapped on his own watch and was now with the most dangerous person in the world at the moment and could be hurt, or worse-

His stream of thoughts were interrupted by Matthew's innocuous opening of the door.

His twin smiled. "Alfred! I was wondering when you would get here." He said quietly. He held up his mug. "Want some? Maple syrup."

Alfred looked at him and said simply, "Come on."

Matthew took a sip, confused.

"What are you on about? Come where?"

"Artie's place."

"I still don't understand, Al…"

Alfred brushed past Matthew into the house, flinging himself onto the couch. He would do anything right now to relieve at least some of this tension. Pacing didn't seem to work, so he didn't even try.

Matthew coughed uncomfortably into his syrup. He stared at his brother as he shut the door silently.

"Alfred, what's going on? Why Arthur's place?"

"Because he's fucking missing. And in danger. And we need to find him. Russia. Russia has him. Arthur needs help." Alfred seemed mentally capable of only short sentences at the pace his brain was running. He turned on the sofa restlessly, unable to sit still.

"What? Al, you're joking. I'm sure he's somewhere-"

"I don't joke about this, Mattie!" Alfred stood up violently, yelling at the top of his lungs. Matthew grew quiet and looked down into his syrup, and Alfred, anger deflated a little, slumped back into the sofa rubbing the bridge of his nose.

"Sorry." Alfred offered in ways of apology for his being out of line. Matthew nodded.

Silence reigned the room: Matthew staring, his syrup forgotten in the complications that had arisen today. It was clear that Alfred wasn't about to elaborate any more, or else he really would just jump off the sofa and rush head-first into Russia's country.

Though he had his doubts, Matthew finally stood up, draining the last of syrup. Al just looked at him, his expression unreadable.

"Well then, eh?" Mattie smiled slightly and set down his mug. "Shouldn't we be off then?"

Alfred stared at him a beat, and then finally got the message. He shook his head, and grinned. Before Matthew could do anything else, he found himself wrapped up in a crushing American hug. Alfred let out a bitter, but thankful chuckle.

"Yeah…yeah, we better hit the road."

He released Matthew, and dug into his pocket for his keys as he practically ran to the front door. Matthew followed slowly, still a bit unconvinced.

"Alfred."

His brother turned to look at him, impatience visible in his eyes. Matthew sighed.

"You do know that he could simply just have gone off on his own? It doesn't have to be Russia, you know."

"No. It's him." Alfred shook his head furiously. Matthew tilted his head.

"How do you know?"

Alfred shut his mouth, but the certainty in his eyes shone through. He didn't say anything though, because he didn't have an answer yet.

* * *

Author's Comments:

I actually had to split the original Chapter 2 of "Icy Darkness" into two parts for this. I just wrote so much on this part, and then a good 1,500 more words on the second part that I just felt I had enough for two separate chapters.

Expect some good ArthurWhump! in the next chapter if you are reading this for the first time!

Please review, if you would be so kind. For this story in particular. Since this is my first re-write, I find feedback is immensely helpful in this case.

Thank you again!

-Fang


	3. Waking Up To A Nightmare

Hey there, Fang here.

Next installment! Enjoy the beginnings of the whump.

* * *

Waking up from unconsciousness hurt. One didn't wake up slowly. More like one was jolted awake.

Too many thoughts.

Head hurts.

One thought at a time, Arthur.

His head throbbed.

His head throbbed, and he was bloody cold.

His head throbbed, he was bloody cold, and something hard was pressing against his back.

And all of this was before he had even ventured to open his eyes.

Arthur gritted his teeth as he rolled over on the hard surface. Pressing his hand against it, he surmised quite quickly for being so disoriented that he was lying upon a rather un-cot-like cot. A cot. Darkness. Nothing so far was giving him any answers he needed.

Not trusting the world outside his eyelids would be pleasant just yet, Arthur settled for trying to remember what had happened right before this new…unfortunate happenstance. The meeting, and the bench. He had been injured. The fight between Alfred and Russia. Yes, it was coming back to him through the pain still pounding a heavy tempo in his head.

Russia. Shit, Russia. Shit, he had been drugged. The voice was Russian. The pieces began to click, and Arthur finally opened his eyes apprehensively.

A single bright light hit his sight like a bullet, and he shut them quickly, turning his head to the side to try again. This time, he was met with a mottled grey stone wall, large dark bricks, rough with the light hitting the uneven surfaces. He stared at them until his vision began to finally swerve back into focus.

He swept his eyes around the room from where he was lying, making sure to keep his eyes from looking up to avoid the light. It was a surprisingly spacy cell, as it didn't quite constitute as a room. There was no window to break the pattern of stone on all four walls, even stretching down to cover the floor. A metal door was on the far wall, heavily reinforced from what he could see. A pair of shackles hung from the wall about midway down, and Arthur shivered.

Whether it was out of realization of the rather freezing temperature of the room or the implications of the bands of metal, Arthur didn't know. In all probability, it was a combination of the two. Arthur wrapped his arms around his torso and shoved his hands underneath his armpits to try and save some semblance of body heat. Seeing as how his sight had finally become acclimated to the shadows cast by the light, he looked up to see a single light bulb hanging from a corner of the cell.

"Cheery place…" he rasped out, more to see that his voice worked still more than anything else.

"I thought you would like it, Britain."

Arthur seized upright and backed up to the wall, his eyes wide with the sudden pump of adrenaline and fright.

Directly in front of him from the shadows of a corner stepped the smiling psychopath, his familiar coat and scarf only adding to his imposing presence.

"I see you have awoken, yes? Good. I trust you have slept well? You are not badly injured? That would make things much less fun, you know."

Arthur's nails dug into the horrible excuse for a mattress as his face contorted into one of utter contempt.

"You…You son of a bitch!"

The Englishman launched himself at the smug Russian, his fists ready to fight his way out of this nightmarish predicament. In his fury and rage, he was more than a match for his opponent, and got in a few good hits upon his abductor. However, Russia drove one well-aimed blow at his solar-plexus, sending all the air out of his lungs and leaving him doubled over and gasping for breath. One more hit to his jaw sent him to his knees, unable to defend himself against the incoming Russian. A hand snaked its way around his neck and squeezed around his airway, cutting off his means of breathing. He struggled for air as he was lifted straight off his feet and smashed into the stone wall behind him.

Arthur flailed, quickly losing his working faculties as he frantically grasped for purchase around Russia's hands at his neck. He opened his blurry eyes to find that Russia didn't move a muscle, and only stared at his struggling face with a smoldering hatred in his eyes. Arthur clutched at the hand choking his life away. His vision became greyer, his lungs strained to breathe. Arthur's struggles became more and more half-hearted as he lost strength and feeling in his extremities. His eyes shut.

Arthur felt himself falling suddenly as Russia's hand disappeared, only to be drawn back up by a rough grip on his hair. If he had the air, he would have cried out in pain, but as it was he gasped like a blasted fish upon dry land. The restricting horrid hand was gone though, and he was choking and sputtering on his own air, drawing in as much as he could through the pain surging through his scalp.

He was lowered to the ground and pushed into a sitting position none too gently; his sluggish movements brushed away like a child's. The clanking of chains reached his ears and he felt his arms each violently pulled outwards from his body. Freezing metal came in contact with his skin, but he couldn't do anything while still gasping for oxygen. His vision began to clear as his brain found itself again with plenty of oxygen. Arthur stared into Russia's grinning face once again.

"Much more comfortable, no? Britain? I created this room for people such as yourself." Russia's slithering smile betrayed all the perverse pleasure he took in this rough treatment of his prisoner. Arthur pulled valiantly against the manacles chaining his arms above his head, but the links of metal stayed strong and steady to the wall.

Russia laughed gleefully at Arthur's futile efforts, but only said, "You shouldn't resist, you know. Your wrists will rub raw, and I doubt a gentleman would want that."

Arthur felt the cold hard blow of Russia's fist connecting to his face, snapping his head around. He clenched his teeth together against the pain reverberating through his cheekbone.

"Fuck you!" he growled at his captor, and earned a rock-hard punch to his gut again. He doubled over, his legs coming up to protect his abdomen. He never cried out though. Arthur would never give the bastard the satisfaction of hearing him voice his pain aloud. Russia grasped his chin in his hand, forcing his head forward to face him eye to eye. He tilted his head in consideration.

"Britain…" Russia paused, leaning in closer. "You will be an entertaining man to break…but it will not be easy, no?" He patted Arthur's cheek. "I enjoy a challenge…"

Involuntarily, Arthur felt a cold chill spill down his spine like a liquid fire. He twisted his head away, snapping his teeth in response.

"But of course…You must not think me a mindless savage, yes? That this is all for my own enjoyment. I have my reasons for bringing you here, if you would believe me." Russia stood up and began pacing slowly across the middle of the cell, his eyes boring into Arthur as if sizing up a piece of meat.

"I have often wondered why America will not join me, or at least step down so I may take the power I want. You understand? He has always been in my way, no matter how wonderfully courteous I have been to him. He is indeed much too stubborn."

"Bloody good for him, you fucking bastard!" Arthur spat. He pulled once again at his cuffs, the chains rattling above his head.

Russia lost his grim smile and stepped menacingly to Arthur, pulling his head up by his hair. Arthur bit back a curse as his head was jerked back into the stone wall, sending a new wave of pain through his skull.

"It is rude to interrupt friends, correct? And I do so want to be your friend." Russia's voice held nothing but cold and unforgiving volumes. He let go of Arthur as if nothing of consequence had been said and continued his pacing.

"To be short, as you seem to have no care for my unfortunate predicament, I shall put this as simply as possible. I need America with me, or out of my way. The first option is preferable, for then I am much more able to control him. And he is very hard to control, or even predict, is he not? Unlike you."

Arthur spat a mouthful of blood out on the ground from his split lip to show just what he thought of that particular statement.

"How then, I think, am I supposed to control a volatile American into complying with my wishes? In dire situations concerning me, America is not highly reliant upon logic, but emotion. So who, therefore, would create something like that to work in my favor?"

Russia grinned, obviously quite pleased with himself.

"To my knowledge, there are only two countries in the world who would elicit any sort of emotional response from America if they, shall we say, left the radar. The twin…Canada, you say, for one. While a good choice, he is unattainable. That invisibility trait he has is rather annoying, and makes him more trouble than he's worth. So of course…there is only one option."

Arthur felt that ice fire sliding down his body again as Russia trained his gaze slowly upon him, looking up and down his body.

"America is very protective of you, to say the very least. I'm very surprised he left you alone for so long today…though I do not complain. In fact, I shall make sure to thank him the next time I talk to him."

Arthur scowled, though the icy feeling had settled in the pit of his stomach. He asked the question, already having a few guesses lined up.

"What the bloody hell are you talking about?" He snapped.

Russia only seemed bemused by the Brit's anger.

"Why, it is simple, isn't it? I use you to 'convince' America to join me, or at least keep out of my way for a specified amount of time. Simple as that."

"He would never!" Arthur roared in outrage.

"Oh? Even if it is to make sure no harm comes to you?" Russia's eyebrows lifted up in utter disbelief.

"That's right, you bastard ." Arthur felt the blood rising in his face. "He may be young and brash, but he's not that idiotic! He knows better than to put himself at risk for my own safety. He will think about himself first, as he should!"

"Are you completely sure about that, Britain?"

"You're simply going to piss him off! And God, I hope you do, because I bloody well can't wait to see your blasted body riddled with bullets!"

Russia's expression expressed perverse glee. "That's what I thought you would say, Mr. Kirkland."

He reached into his pocket slowly, and Arthur stiffened, expecting a knife, a gun, anything that Russia could use to inflict pain upon his person. He strained at the cuffs again. Russia watched his reaction with express interest.

From his pocket, he pulled out a cell phone. Arthur tried not to show his visible relaxation, but even Russia smirked at his anxiety deflating even a little bit. The Brit closed his eyes, trying to gather his nerve and his thoughts again. He could find a way to get out of this. Alfred had no idea where he was anyway, so there was nothing to worry about if Alfred were to come. Arthur could find a way out of this himself. He was a spy, for God's sake. He was used to this kind of thing. As long as Alfred was kept in the dark, there was nothing to be afraid of.

Russia chuckled. "Let us call Mr. Jones for his opinion, yes?"

Arthur's eyes snapped wide open.

* * *

Author's Comments:

Oh, I'm so excited...I get to write ALL the torture scenes over again. And make them worse to the maximum. I've got some doozies. Arthur's in for a real treat.

Again, please review, as I do appreciate it. Any feedback makes me a better writer.

Thank you again!

-Fang


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